


your name (will scorch my lips forever)

by LtTanyaBoone



Category: X Company (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, mentions of WWII and the Holocaust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9893201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LtTanyaBoone/pseuds/LtTanyaBoone
Summary: (future fic/possibly AU) Aurora's life after she returns to Canada in 1943.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This needs serious trigger warnings for events of World War II and the Holocaust. There's a passage where the Holocaust is explained to a child. It starts with "Give it here." and continues until the next year mark, if you need to, please skip it. It contains no plot points necessary for the rest of the story.
> 
> (the title is a line from "Jerusalem of Gold" [Yerushalayim Shel Zahav]: Ki shmech tsorev et hasfatayim)

_1948_

She feels him stewing, silently, as he sits beside her. Aurora closes her eyes, her fingers trembling slightly as she brushes them over the leather of her purse.

"I just don't understand," he finally says and part of her wants to laugh out loud at the words. Instead, she shakes her head and opens her eyes, staring straight ahead. "The boy needs looking after-"

"I am perfectly capable of that," she snaps, getting up from the chair. Her heels click as she paces the hospital corridor, a few steps in one direction before she turns and then takes double the amount in the other. She feels him watching her, but she can't force herself to look at him. To see the disappointment in his eyes yet again.

"I did not mean to imply you weren't," he finally says, German accent lacing his words. Aurora pauses and crosses her arms tightly over her chest. It's a sore spot, that's all. No matter how hard he might try, every time her father brings up Gavriel, she hears the disappointment, the silent accusation. The questions she has so often refused to answer that he stopped asking them.

"Can we, not, do this? Right now? Please," she asks and shakes her head.

Her parents didn't understand. How could they, when all she'd been able to tell them were lies and half-truths. No, she hadn't been raped by Germans. Yes, she knows who the father is. No, she cannot tell them. Because. Because everything has gotten so complicated, everything is so messed up and there have been so many lies and hidden meanings that she cannot figure out what is the truth any more, herself, never mind explain it to someone else.

She realized she was pregnant nine weeks into their new mission in central Germany. Far too late to do anything about it, even if she'd wanted to. By then, she'd requested to be pulled off the assignment three times. Sinclair had refused, again and again and again. Until she'd dropped that bombshell on him and his hands had been tied. He'd called her back, but only her. By then, she'd been operating mostly by herself, anyway. She doesn't know who took over her place as sergeant for the team, didn't think to ask about it until it had been too late and her access had been removed.

Sinclair knew, immediately, who the father was. Still, he asked outright. And was met by her stony silence. She never made a report of being assaulted by a Nazi, or anyone else, for that matter. As far as their bosses were concerned, whatever had happened, she'd consented to it.

Her mother had been devastated. Her father had been livid when she'd returned, visibly pregnant, in the middle of the war. He said he was going to make that French wanna-be journalist pay, he better put a ring on her finger- It was only then that she'd realized she never even told them that René had died. She did, then. Told them that the young man they'd thought she was still seeing hadn't been breathing for months now, his body turned cold in the alley of a French village that had absolutely nothing to do with either of them.

She likes to think that the fact that the baby was a boy reconciled her father, if only for a bit. When Gavriel was two weeks shy of turning a year old, she'd moved out of her parents' home and to the city. Found a job for herself, and an apartment for the two of them. It's a waste of her talent, writing for a lousy newspaper that barely anyone reads. She could do a lot more with her skills. She used to do a lot more with them. But things have changed. She's no longer an Allied agent. Instead, she's an unmarried woman, with a bastard child. And people in the village her parents lived in, the one she grew up in, were quick to remind her of her position.

Her father lets out a soft sigh and she sees him lean forward out of the corner of her eye. Turns her head to see him rest his arms on his knees and allow his head to hang in defeat.

How did things go so wrong? she wonders briefly. They used to be able to talk about everything with each other. He was her best friend, growing up. He looked at her like she was made of stardust and wonderment. He named her Aurora, after the dancing lights in the night sky. He idolized her.

And perhaps that is why it is so hard for him to see her be human. To realize his little daughter isn't perfect. She makes mistakes, horrible, terrible mistakes that have steep prices to pay. He thought she was better than all the other girls, and now he has to realize she isn't, never was, never will be. And it is slowly destroying him.

Though, perhaps, his current state has more to do with the reason why they are at the hospital right now.

She hates that word. Hates it with every fiber of her being. At the camp, they used to make them say it out loud when someone was killed. In the short assessments after their debriefings, they always had to say the name of the agent, followed by "was killed" or "died in action". Tom Cummings died on the beach of Dieppe. Harry James was killed by a Nazi whilst fleeing from a box car headed for a concentration camp. René Villiers died by her own hand, to save him from falling into the hands of the Germans again. Now that she is no longer an agent, there is no one to force her to repeat the words of the doctors.

_Your mother has cancer. We think she might have another six months, probably less. I am sorry, there's nothing we can do, aside from making sure she is comfortable._

"Monsier Luft?"

Aurora looks up, sees the young nurse carrying a clipboard. The French pronounciation of her surname is jarring, throws her for a moment. She realizes that the woman didn't address her, though she is now looking at Aurora, big blue eyes uncertain.

"Papa," Aurora mutters and reaches out, touching his shoulder briefly. Her father looks up and she nods in the direction of the young nurse. She is incredibly young. Looks barely old enough to be finished with school. Aurora lets out a soft sigh as her father rises.

"Oui?" he mutters, burying his hands in the pockets of his pants. The nurse - Audrey Jolie, her nametag reveals - takes a small step back in surprise. Her father is tall, and even though he sat there slumped over just a moment ago, he still stands with a straight back, refusing to bow down to anyone.

The little thing tells them her mother is not having that great a day, she's exhausted from the radiation, but they can see her, if they want to?

Aurora nods, thanking the younger woman with a gentle smile. She follows her to her mother's room, leaving her father to fall into step behind them.

Her mother is half-asleep in her bed. She lets her father enter before her, staying behind for a moment to be able to speak to the nurse. She'd hoped for someone more experienced, a doctor, even. But this will have to do.

"She, has a grandchild," she tells the other woman, the French sounding impersonal. I have a son, she would have liked to say, but she is well aware of the lack of ring on her finger, and of the fact that her mother's file lists her by her maiden name Luft. "He misses her terribly. Is there a chance that I might be able to bring him around? Just for a few minutes," she quickly adds when she sees the nurse furrow her brows skeptically. "I thought she'd like to see him," Aurora adds and gazes at her mother. And furrows her brows when her eyes finds the bouquet of flowers sitting on her nightstand.

White lillies. Five of them.

"Who sent those?" she asks, cutting off the other woman's reply.

"I'm sorry?" the nurse asks, bewildered by the sudden change in language, French accent thick. Aurora realizes only then that she asked the question in English. This is Quebec, this is a French-Canadian hospital.

"The flowers," she explains, motioning towards them, sitting on her mother's nightstand. "Where did she get them from?"

"I, I thought... There was a man, he said he was your friend-"

Aurora feels the blood drain from her face as her heart starts beating frantically in her chest. She thrusts her purse at the woman and starts running down the corridor. Visitation hours only started ten minutes ago, if she hurries-

Her shoes skid on the linoleum as she rounds the corner and races down the stairs, jumping the final two steps. She makes it outside just in time to see a taxi pull away, a lone figure in the backseat.

_Oh merde._

 

 

_1943_

"How is he?"

The line crackles as she presses the receiver to her ear. Hears Neil inhale deeply.

" _I dunno_ ," he finally answers, familiar British accent coating his words. Aurora closes her eyes and leans forward to rest her forhead against the cool glass of the phone booth's window.

" _He's not exactly a chatterbox, you know._ "

At the Brit's words, she lets out a soft chuckle. Throws her head back and clenches her eyes shut to keep herself from crying.

"Can you tell Krystina to keep an eye on him?" she asks, knowing the answer already. Even if Neil does, Krystina won't do it. She's been sent over as replacement for Harry, and, Aurora suspects, to make sure she does not slip too deeply into the abyss she's currently standing right at the brink of.

" _She asked me to relay a message to you. 'Creon said no'. What did you ask him?_ "

Aurora hesitates, allows a few seconds to tick by.

"Au- Helene," Neil catches himself at the last second. If their call is being recorded, she will have a lot of explaining to do, but she might just get out of it, if no one calls her by a different name than the one in her papers.

"I told him I needed a vacation," she answers, finally. "A, change of scenery. This endless stream of cargo trains is quite depressing to look at," she tells him, hoping that Neil understands what she is saying between the lines. There's more crackling, she hears him shift, hears scraping, the sound of wood on wood.

" _You need to be relieved?_ " he asks her outright. _Stop_ , Aurora's instincts yell at her. This is not something they can discuss over the phone, not when this is not a secure line and anyone might be listening in.

_Yes_ , another part of her screams. Urges her to answer. Yes, she needs to be relieved. She needs to be pulled off this mission, she needs to spend a couple of weeks at a warm beach and with an endless amount of alcohol, if there is the slightest chance she might be able to forget the horrors she has seen-

"I will be alright," the agent in her replies. Makes her put enough trembling into her voice to let Neil know she is struggling but will be alright in time. It's a lie, she knows that. The only thing that gets her to sleep at the night is the memory of Alfred's embrace, of his kisses on her skin, down her throat and the valley of her breasts.

"Give Alphonse my love," she adds and then hangs up without another word. It takes her a good two minutes before she is able to step outside the booth and cross the street to the cable car stop.

 

 

_1945_

He has brown hair. Loose curls that stick up when Gavriel tries to run around the room and chase the dog.

" _Peter, sitz_ ," her father snaps at the German Shephard, who immediately plants its rear onto the floor, tongue lolling out as the boy throws himself at the animal, hugging it.

"Gavriel, arrête," she tells him, but she can't keep the smile from her voice. It's ironic, she thinks, remembering three years ago, when German Shepherds owned by Nazis chased her down cobbled streets until her lungs ached and her feet began to trip. The boy's grandparents have no clue about these events occurring, ever. As far as they know, their daughter never set foot on German soil after turning fifteen. And Aurora thinks that everyone deserve to keep their innocence, for as long as possible.

Gavriel loves Peter. He has been asking to take the dog home with them. She keeps trying to explain that they can't, because their apartment is way too small and does not allow any sort of pets, never mind one of Peter's size. The little boy doesn't understand the reason, but he does know the meaning of the word "no", even though he likes to pretend otherwise. So she has to placate him with frequent visits with his furry best friend, though those usually end in tears, once Gavriel realizes that, yet again, they are not going to take the dog with them.

It adds fuel to the fire that are her father's attempts to convince her to move back in with them. She's told him no, countless of times. More than she had to tell Gavriel no in regards to bringing Peter to the city with them. Her father is just as stubborn as her son, making her wonder if perhaps their iron will has been hereditary. Something the Nazis might have had an idea about, she thinks, for the fraction of a second. It sends a cold chill down her spine.

She knows her father just found out, about the camps. That they truly existed. He wanted to believe to desperately that his own people would never be able to commit those atrocities rumored to happen all across Europe, but the truth has finally caught up with him. So instead of snapping and shouting at him, she tells him maybe this time around. She knows what he is thinking about: the months, years of silence from his parents. The lack of letters from his niece. She's already put their names down to be matched to the lists the Nazis kept, of who got sent to the concentration camps. Part of her already knows what is going to come of it, but there is a part of her that still hopes, that refuses to let go of the faint chance that exists that her family might still be alive and out there. She wishes they are, prays for it as often as possible. For Gavriel's sake, for her own sake. But most of all, she prays for her father's sake. She cannot imagine ever losing her parents, and she does not want to think about losing them to something as horrible as genocide.

 

 

_1944_

Her mother places her hand on her arm, giving it a soft squeeze as Aurora clenches her eyes shut. The crying drifting down the stairs stops briefly before it begins again, shrill, piercing screams travelling through the house.

"I'll get him," her father starts and she hears him push his chair back but quickly throws her napkin down.

"It's alright," she tells him, getting up herself. "I've got it."

As she climbs the stairs, she hears her mother hiss at her husband, though her voice is too low for her to understand what she's saying.

Gavriel is in his crib, his little arms flailing as he screams his lungs out. His head is beginning to turn a deep red and Aurora shakes her head at her son before she bends down to pick him up, making soft shushing sounds at the infant.

"It's okay," she murmurs as she sinks down onto the bed, holding the boy close to her chest. Feels him shake in her arms, his chest expanding again as he inhales. Her ears protest at the volume of his crying, and part of her almost wishes that she'd have taken her father up on his offer. But she couldn't. She can't, can't let him touch the baby, can't let him hold him, can't allow him to take care of him.

It was the same at the hospital. The sight of anyone close to the baby made her gut churn and had her reaching for him, demanding that Gavriel be handed over to her. She can barely tolerate her mother stroking the baby's cheek, everything else-

_He's all she has left of him._

The thought keeps coming to her, unbidden, whenever she lets her guard down. That there is a chance, a not-so-small one, that he literally is all that she ever will have of Alfred.

She has no idea where the boy's father is. If he is free, or has been captured by the Nazis. If he is in prison, being interrogated. Being tortured. If he might be in one of the camps, walking towards his death right this moment.

Aurora clenches her eyes shut and hugs the baby just a little tighter. She turns her head and presses a soft kiss to his temple, inhales the scent of baby powder and fresh linen.

"Hey," she mutters, changing her hold on the little boy. "What's all this about, huh?" she asks him, keeping her voice low, gentle. "I just fed you, you're supposed to be sleeping."

Gavriel kicks his legs and scrunches up his face. Instead of a fresh scream, a loud burp escapes him. The baby's face transforms into a look of surprise, before sudden bliss settles on it. And Aurora cannot help herself, she laughs.

"Now, was that what this was about?" she inquires, leaning down to rub her nose against the baby's. The infant lets out a soft gurgle and she feels him tug at her hair, his fingers getting tangled in her long curls. He's quite bald, still, his eyes still the undefined baby blue every infant has. She hopes that they'll change to match his father's, in time. She doesn't have Alfred's memory, and if Gavriel ever asks her about him, she will need a reminder of what they looked like to anyone else. She knows the looks in them, but whenever she tries to think of the color, she feels herself beginning to grow more uncertain with every passing day, grasping for comparisons and coming up short.

"You know," she sighs, gently rubbing a hand over the baby's back as she lifts him up again so he is resting against her shoulder with his head, "I wonder what he'd say if he could see us now."

Confessing to an infant seems like a bad idea. Then again, he won't talk back. And he won't reveal her secrets to anyone else.

She cuddles with the baby for a few minutes, relaxing a little, and feeling Gavriel relax in turn. There's a soft knock that makes her turn around in surprise, her heart already in her throat. Part of the response her training drilled into her refuses to be silence, no matter how many times she tries to tell herself she is safe now, there is nothing to fear on her parents' property.

"Are you coming back downstairs?"

Aurora closes her eyes, allows herself to relax. Just her father, she tells herself. Gavriel jerked when she whirled around so abruptly, she can feel him squirm against her.

"Not just yet," she replies, rubbing circles on the baby's back. Her father hesitates, then buries his hands into the pockets of his pants as he leans against the doorjamb to her old room.

"You need a break, starlight," he tells her. "Why don't you let your mother take care of him for a few hours, huh? Get some rest. No one will think any different of you if you admit you need a break."

She can feel her face darken, sees it in her father's eyes. The surprise at the sudden coldness in hers, a look he still has not gotten used to. Probably never will.

"I can handle it," she informs him before turning around again, her back to him. The dismissal hanging in the air between them. She starts humming a melody to the baby, something she heard Harry humm under his breath once, while he was working on fixing their radio for probably the hundredth time. It's only on the third repetition of the fragment that she remembers that she hears her father's steps slowly retreat down the hall.

 

 

_1948_

"Mademoiselle, I understand your concern-"

"Do you?" Aurora cuts off the man. The looks up at her with an exasperated look and she takes a step closer to his desk, leans down to place her hands on either side of the name plaque. "I did not spent the war idly sitting in my parents' home, waiting for the Nazis to lose," she tells him, keeping her voice low. "I worked overseas, on assignments that meant I had to sign the Offcial Secrets Act. Now, please tell me again how you understand my concern, because I honestly think you have no idea what this means."

Part of her is almost gleeful at the shocked surprise on the older man's face, the way his jaw dropped and his mouth slowly morphed into a perfect O.

Aurora straightens, turns to take a step away from his desk and then sit down in the chair opposite it. She crosses her legs deliberately, keeping her eyes on the man's face.

"Now, how soon can my mother be released?" she repeats her earlier question. The one she asked when it became apparent that the chief of this ward was not going to transfer her mother to a private room and allow security to be posted outside it.

"Mademoiselle Luft," the man starts again with a shake of his head, and she almost corrects his way of pronouncing her name. She has come to loathe the French pronunciation of the word. It grates on her nerves, feels like a hundred needles pricking her skin. The sound of nails being dragged over a chalkboard.

"There is no way I can discharge your mother. Not right now, not in her weakened condition," the man tries to explain. Aurora holds his gaze wordlessly, merely raises an eyebrow slightly in challenge. Waits, hears the seconds tick by. Watches as the man begins to squirm. Straightens the knot of his tie, smoothes it down his chest. Fiddles with his pen. Then finally, reaches for his phone, dialing a number.

"Yes, this is Doctor Renoît," he mutters into the receiver. His eyes skid across the papers on his desk, flicker, briefly, to Aurora's face. "Please make sure that Madame Luft is moved to a private room at the east wing. And, uh, tell our orderlies I want someone posted at her door," he adds, looking up at Aurora, "uh, to make sure no one visits her, aside from her husband and daughter. That would be all," he finishes and hangs up, anxiously awaiting her reaction.

Aurora forces a soft smile and gives the man a grateful nod.

"Merci," she breathes and gets up, leaves his office and pulls the door shut behind her. Only then does she allow herself to close her eyes, to cover her trembling lips with one hand. Presses tightly to keep the sob that threatens to escape at bay.

Now to find out who figured out where to find her mother.

 

 

_1943_

If she closes her eyes and concentrates, she can feel it.

Soft flutters in her belly. Like butterfly wings beating, trying to take flight.

Sinclair is livid. Absolutely outraged. She stood at attention in front of his desk for the better part of an hour as he yelled at her. Cursed her stupidity, her recklessness, her goddamn short-sightedness. Stared straight ahead and ignored the tears that spilled down her cheeks as the man cursed and raged and explained in no uncertain words just how finished her career was, how messy of a situation she had left her team in.

He'd finally dismissed her just when Aurora had thought that she was about to faint soon. Her feet had been numb as she tried to walk out of the office with at least a fraction of her dignity. She should have known that there wasn't a shred of it left, after all, Sinclair's voice had carried enough for everyone in the goddamn building to know just exactly how badly she had screwed up.

Kate had been the one to leave her post when all the others had simply stared. She'd snapped and asked if they didn't have anything more important to do than stare and taken Aurora's arm to guide her down the hall and outside for some fresh air.

Kate stayed with her, all the way to the barracks. Made sure that Aurora sat down and then she'd disappeared briefly, only to return with a pitcher of water and a glass and the promise of some food being sent along shortly.

Her hands had been shaking so badly that Kate had needed to pour her drink. And then Aurora had broken down and started sobbing, and Kate had wrapped her arms around her and hugged her, gently guiding them both down to the ground when Aurora's legs had given out under her.

Part of her wishes Krystina were here, back at the Camp, so she might have one friend here. But she knows that the teams needs the redhead, now more than ever. She knows that Sinclair put out a gag order. No one on the team is to know why Aurora was pulled from the field. The official reason is that she requested reassignment, citing personal reasons. If he is aware of how that will read to Alfred when he hears it, Sinclair doesn't seem to care the slightest.

"Aurora."

Kate's voice is soft, her name almost a gentle caress, before the brunette gently bumps her shoulder. Aurora looks up, gives the other woman a questioning look. Kate tilts her head wordlessly in the direction of Sinclair's office. When Aurora looks over, she sees the man standing there in his uniform. Feels the bile rise in her throat and quickly swallows, forcing it down. She's not going to make any more of a display of herself than she already has.

Sinclair motions for her to step close, to follow him. Turns his back and retreats into his office. She takes a few calming breaths and stands. Resists the urge to rub her hand over her belly, curling her fingers into fists instead.

"Close the door," the man orders when she steps into his office. She almost wants to ask if he thinks that is necessary. If he yells at her like he did the other day, well, no door is going to keep that sound from escaping. But Aurora bites her tongue and does as she is told. When she turns back again, she finds him watching her, his eyes uncharacteristically soft. They linger over her waistline, make her feel self-conscious about the changes in her body. Sinclair pulls himself from his thoughts and gestures to the chairs in front of his desk.

"Please, Aurora, sit," he tells her, stepping behind his desk. When she hesitates, he remains standing himself, too.

"I think I prefer to stand," she replies, only remembering her place at the surprised expression on his face. "Sir," she adds, keeping her voice carefully controlled. He watches her, searches her face before he nods. Purses his lips briefly before he sits.

"I'm not going to yell at you again," he tells her, keeping his voice gentle. Aurora shakes her head, allows a chuckle to escape her.

"With all due respect, sir," she starts. Meets his gaze head-on. "I find that hard to believe."

Sinclair remains silent. He leans back in his chair, regards her. Reaches for a file on his desk, flips it open, scanning the pages before he drops it back onto his desk.

"I forgot to say," he finally speaks again, "congratulations."

The word is such a shock that Aurora reaches out, steadying herself against the back of one of the wooden chair. Carefully, unsure if she can trust her legs, she steps around it, sits down.

She's not stupid enough to thank him. Though she's almost brave enough to do it, she's acutely aware of the survival of this baby's father hinging of Sinclair's decisions. And angry men seldom make the wisest choices.

"I take it Alfred is the father?"

Aurora is pretty sure that this is one of those days where Camp X is cursing the rigorous training all its agents are put through. She's long ago learned how to school her features, how to remain quiet. How not to give anything away if she does not want to.

Sinclair lets out a soft sigh and waves her off. He looks tired, sitting there, uniform rumpled, posture slouching a little. Looks like she feels. Tired, exhausted, from this war and all the choices she’s been forced to make.

“I cannot protect you anymore,” Sinclair suddenly says, and Aurora feels herself tense. “René and you, that was one thing. Alfred and you, that was another. It jeopardized the entire operation, that’s why I told you to end it. I could have turned a blind eye in case you hadn’t, but this,” he motions to her expanding waistline, “this is something I can’t cover up.”

Aurora closes her eyes and gives a small nod. She knows that. Knew that Sinclair had his hands tied this time around. Then why does this still feel so much like she is being abandoned?

 

 

_1948_

She hasn't held a gun in a long time. There was a time when she still went out with a knife strapped to her thigh, but that stopped, after the war was over.

Now she is keenly aware of the leather sheath sitting against her thigh as she walks down the street.

She's grown careless, and she could kick herself for it. When she first returned home, she kept eyeing her surroundings. Was aware of every entry and exit route at any time. But over the years, the sense of safety won her over.

Gavriel is all smiles when she picks him up at the daycare. Laughs and throws himself at her and she scoops him up into her arms and showers his face with kisses.

"What do you think about going on a trip?" she asks the boy when they leave the building. He isn't listening, she finds, and lets out an exasperated sigh. They've been working on that, but she's been slacking. They need to start again with the lessons. She needs to teach him a code-word, needs to make him understand that when she says it, he has to do as he is told, and cannot ever disobey her.

"He's back!" the boy yells excitedly, and Aurora feels her blood run cold. She stops and pulls her son close, pulls him around to face her. Grabs his face to make him look at her. Gavriel squirms, his green eyes widening in fear.

"Who?" she asks him, keeping her hold on his face firm. "No, don't look," she tells him, keeping her voice low. Tries to remember where her son was looking when he said those words just now. She knows the general direction, but if it looks like she is searching for something there, she might give them away to whoever it is that is stalking her.

"I'm not angry," she explains to him when she sees tears well up in the boy's eyes. Rubs her hand down his arm as she crouches down in front of him, putting herself on his level. "It's okay, you did nothing wrong."

"Maman," the boy whimpers and she closes her eyes briefly. She thought about teaching him to call her Aurora, in the beginning. When he'd been born, when the war had still been raging, when she'd been terrified of her past catching up with her, she'd wanted nothing more than to keep him save. It would have broken her heart, and she would never have been able to explain it to her parents. And the selfish part of her had wanted this, had wanted it so badly, to hear her own child call her mother. So she had let him. Now, in front of the kindergarten, she deeply regrets her decision.

"Mon ange," she mutters and strokes his cheek, keeps her touch soft and gentle. "Tell maman who you're talking about."

Gavriel is only halfway through a rant where his words blurr together and she has trouble understanding him when she becomes aware of someone watching them. She pulls him to the side and stands, gets between the boy and the man leaning against the fence of the property.

"You know," he says and reaches up to adjust his cap. And her heart that's been hammering in her throat while her brain tried to figure out a way for them to get out of this alive lets out a relieved sob as her eyes water.

"You really are hard to find, these days."

"You idiot," she shakes her head as she starts walking towards him, breaking into a jog. Neil's grin is as wide as she remembers it and he catches her deftly, lifts her up and twirls her around once before he sets her down. She shakes her head at him and ducks her head in embarrassment, but he hugs her, pulls her close and lets her hide her tears against his shoulder.

"Missed ya, too," he mutters and Aurora can only nod mutely as she bites her lip to keep herself from sobbing loudly.

* * *

Five white lillies, the symbols of France. One for each member of the team. One for Tom, one for Harry. One for Neil, one for her. One for Alfred.

Neil knows the second he lays eyes on the boy. He doesn't ask, doesn't have to, and Aurora doesn't deny it, either. Doesn't scramble to hide the picture of Alfred sitting on the mantel in the living room in their small apartment. The only one she has. She's told Gavriel he's his father. Told him stories about the brave man he was. About the magical things he could do.

"He know?" Neil asks, once the boy has been settled in the bedroom, with some toys to keep him company.

"About what I did, during the war?" she asks in return and raises an eyebrow. Gets out two tumblrs and a bottle of bourbon. Neil takes a sip, tilts his head.

"Fair point," he allows. Aurora lifts her own glass, downs half the content. Regards him, takes in the lines on his face, the grey in his dark curls. If her father could see them now, he'd probably think Neil's the father of his grandson. Their dark curls would match, but Aurora knows better. Knows that her curls and the color of Alfred's hair combined to give Gavriel his mop of messy hair that always looks like it's in dire need of a haircut, no matter how hard she tries to tame it.

"What are you doing here?" she asks him, finally. Watches as Neil's eyes skid away, settle on the wallpaper. Trace the pattern on it for a few long seconds.

"Anniversary is coming up," he finally answers. She furrows her brows, searching her memory, before realization dawns on her. Dieppe. It's been almost six years since Tom died.

"I used to get together, with Alfred, but he's out of the country," the Brit continues with a shrug. She faintly remembers Krystina mentioning something about Alfred settling in London.

"So you, what? Flew halfway around the world and decided to reconnect by giving me a heart attack?" Aurora frowns at him.

"I thought it was high time the two of you got over yourselves, actually," Neil replies. Aurora blinks at him in stupid surprise.

"'Course, I had no idea about..." he trails off, motioning towards the bedroom. Towards the boy probably listening very hard to every word his mother and this strange man with the weird accent are exchanging. Making her very thankful that she insisted on only speaking French with Gavriel.

"Not exactly my choice," Aurora admits, taking another sip of her drink. When she looks over towards the bedroom, she finds two eyes widen in surprise before quickly disappearing. She shakes her head and gets up.

"No, business talk," she tells Neil before opening the door to the bedroom wide, holding out her hand to the boy.

"Come on," she tells him in French. "I want you to meet my friend," she adds with a smile. Gavriel takes her hand and hides behind her leg, suddenly shy. Neil shakes his head in amusement and crouches down.

"Salut," he greets the boy, making Aurora cringe inwardly at his accent. It must have been years since he used the language, and truth be told, his French had never been the best to begin with.

"My name is Neil. Your mother and I used to work together," he tells the boy, causing Aurora to give him a warning look.

"You write for the newspaper?" Gavriel asks excitedly, forgetting his shyness. Neil looks at her for the fraction of a second before he shrugs.

"Used to, a long time ago," he answers. Reaches out to tap the patch on the boy's shirt. A lion. He'd ripped it, first day of kindergarten. Patching it had been a lot cheaper than buying a new shirt, and Aurora's found that the boy likes the shirt best of all his outfits, now.

"That intentional?" Neil asks her. She swallows and shakes her head no. No, the placement hadn't been her way of getting over yellow star patches she'd witnessed so many times while in Europe.

"Maman?"

"He likes your lion," Aurora tells her son and gives the boy's shoulder a soft squeeze. "Do you want to show him the stuffed one Opa gave you?"

Gavriel nods enthusiastically and disappears, little feet racing over the lino.

"Opa?" Neil asks with a frown.

"German, for-"

"I know what it bloody means," he interrupts her.

"Keep your voice down!" Aurora finds herself snapping at the man. "He meant my father. Who is still German, and still a good man in spite of it."

It makes the Brit deflate a little. He forgot, and Aurora doesn't blame him. She never broadcasted her heritage when they were still working together. Technically, everyone on the team knew why she spoke German as well as she did. They also knew that she is Jewish. But in the field, that never mattered. What did was that she spoke German with an accent that could be passed off as Swiss and was able to translate on the fly. Being Jewish was her cross to bear, and she did so silently, without reminding the others of what living in Nazi-occupied territory meant for her, when she saw her own people being sent to their deaths.

"I'm sorry," Neil mutters, plastering a bright smile onto his face when Gavriel returns and thrusts a stuffed lion at him.

Thankfully, Gavriel tires out quickly. The excitement of kindergarten and meeting one of his mother's friends combine to make him yawn repeatedly during dinner, and Neil has to carry him to the bedroom when the boy's eyes keep closing, in spite of his protestations of not being tired at all.

"Are we going to adress the elephant in the room?" Aurora asks, after she's made sure that her son is well and truly asleep and has closed both the door to the bedroom and that of the living room.

"You wanna have a go now?" Neil asks and crosses his arms. Stares at her openly. Aurora mimics his body language, but in the end, she's the one who looks away.

"I'm, sorry," she apologizes, after taking a deep breath. It feels weird, the words foreign shapes on her tongue. She's never said them, not to any of the team. Not since she was pulled from the field and then kicked out of Camp X, for daring to fall in love.

_Actually, for being reckless and falling pregnant_ , a voice in her head reminds her, but she pushes it away.

"I've been wondering, did you know? When we last spoke, on the phone. You were in Munich, we were stuck in some horrendous village... Krystina told me that Sinclair had denied your request for reassignment. And I just, I need to know. When we spoke, _did you know you were pregnant_?"

Aurora opens her mouth, a quick denial on her tongue. But she forces herself to close her mouth again, to swallow, to take a breath and think.

"I might have suspected," she admits, finally. Neil's frown deepens and she lets her arms fall to her sides. "It wasn't the reason why I requested reassignment. I needed to get away, it was too much. I could feel part of my soul being chipped away every single day, alongside my sanity. I made that request when I couldn't stand to see those yellow stars any more without having to fight the urge to say to hell with the mission and do something dangerous and reckless. By the time I got the answer from Krystina, I started suspecting I was pregnant. It made me pray all the harder that he'd see reason and grant my transfer. I should have known better."

"You stayed," Neil reminds her, shock tinging his voice. "Three more weeks, you stayed in Germany. _Jesus Christ_ , Aurora, you could've-"

"What?" she cuts him off, her voice icy. "Been killed? Gotten arrested? Been beaten? Had a miscarriage?" she lists with a shake of her head. "I couldn't just, drop everything. I got out as fast as I could, and it still left the three of you hanging in mid-air. If I had left before I did... It wasn't an option," she shakes her head, her eyes darting to the picture of Gavriel on the wall. Her mother took it, on his second birthday. The boy's face is smeared with cake, his party hat completely askew on his head. He's laughing at the camera, reaching for it. It sends a stab of pain through her heart, the thought that she risked this. Put her son's life on the line like this. Neil is right, it was irresponsible of her to stay in the field for as long as he did, but she hadn't had another choice. It was either protecting the team by not leaving before they could handle their loss during a crucial mission, or protecting the child she'd been carrying. And her sense of responsibility over the lives already being lived had made that choice easier to bear, had made it a tiny bit easier to hang in there until she was finally pulled from the field.

It doesn't mean it had been an easy choice, and that it wouldn't have haunted her for the rest of her life, had anything gone wrong with the pregnancy. But it hadn't. Even now, years after her son's birth, Aurora is fully aware of how lucky they got. That her cover held up for as long as it did, that the Nazis didn't suspect, that she wasn't arrested or interrogated or hurt. She was extremely lucky and she's thanked her lucky stars many times over for it.

Neil shakes his head, turns around. She sees the tension in his shoulders, watches as he rubs a hand over the back of his neck.

"It was my choice to make," she tells him, keeping her voice low, gentle. When he looks at her again, his brows are furrowed and there is an expression in his eyes she has seen many times before. Guilt, and shame, and the torment of having failed someone he wanted to protect so badly.

Aurora reaches out and takes his hand into both of hers. Squeezes tightly before she raises it to her lips and presses a kiss to the roughened skin. Neil attempts to pull back, but she holds on, keeps his hand there, until his struggle stops.

"We would never have asked you to risk-"

"I know," she interrupts him, attempting a sad smile. "That's why you didn't know," Aurora points out. "And truth be told, you were not my first priority when it came to protecting the team."

It's a strange thought. One she usually avoids, because if she spends too much time contemplating it, her head begins to hurt. The choices they were forced to make all these years ago, they seem so distant now, so hard to grasp and understand. But she knows that, if given the same choice, she would have acted the same way over and over again. Losing the baby would have been devastating, she's sure of that. But losing Alfred, that is a reality she still cannot fathom. There is one good thing to come out of this war, and that has been his continued survival. He's made it through, against all odds. She's sure he's used as battered and bruised as she is, but that doesn't really matter. What matters is that somewhere on this world, Alfred Graves still lives. His heart still beats, his lungs still breathe. And that has been enough to keep her going for a long time.

 

 

_1942_

His kisses taste like vodka. The harsh burn of the alcohol on her tongue, contrasting with the soft feeling of it slowly moving against hers.

Aurora pulls back and lets out a soft gasp. Rests her forehead against Alfred's, draws short, almost panting breaths. Her head is spinning, the world is moving way too fast for her to catch up with it.

"I-" she starts and feels, with strange surprise, how his hand covers her mouth, gentle pressure against her lips.

"Don't," he mumbles, waiting a beat before he withdraws his hand and kisses her again. Aurora feels herself beginning to melt against him, her body responding to the soft touches.

They have nine hours to prepare for evacuation. Ample time, if nothing screws up the timeline. There are a few things that are left to do, make sure that their papers are as close to legit as they can get, see to it that their safehouse will be scrubbed clean of every possible trace they might have left during their stay here. Double-check the details regarding their transit, make sure every one of them knows the script for their entry into Nazi German word-by-word. They cannot take any chances this time. No goddamn cargo train, no travelling separately. Neil and him will enter together, she will be the next in line at the checkpoint. Either all of them make it in, or neither one does. It was her one condition regarding this mission, when Sinclair had refused her first request of being moved back stateside: that the team stay together on this journey.

They will meet their new team member in Germany. Harry's replacement as a radio controller. Far as Aurora knows, they'll be getting a female addition. Good, she's tired of being outnumbered by the guys. It will be nice to have a female agent on the team, someone to understand her in ways the boys have never been able to.

But Alfred does understand her, at least in some capacity. He's seen her struggle these past few weeks, has seen this job pull at her, drag her down. Has been aware of her nervous breathing and the subtle shaking of her whenever she'd seen him coming directly from the office.

He kisses her again and again and the world around them begins to slip away. She's promised herself that she wouldn't do this. Wouldn't give in to her desires, her longings. Sinclair'd been right, their feelings for each other put everyone on the team at risk, and she'd be reckless to ignore that risk.

But the thing is, in eight hours and thirty-nine minutes, they are going to leave Franz Faber behind. The man who could easily use their feelings for each other against them, who wouldn't hesitate a second to do so, he will be hundreds of miles away. What he knows about them will not matter.

So she kisses back. Kisses Alfred, his mouth, his jaw, his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, his forehead. Showers kisses across every inch of his face as silent tears begin to roll down her face. She is so, so grateful, that he is still here. Still is alive, is still with her. That he isn't pushing her away, after what she's done to him in France. That he still cares for her, that she still can dare to think he may be in love with her.

He undresses her slowly. Watches her, a reverent expression on his face as he carefully traces his fingertips over her naked skin. She does the same to him. Carefully unbuttons his shirt and pulls away the garment. Rests her palms against his chest, to feel it raise as he breathes in. To feel the hammering of his heart within it.

They steal almost three hours from the mission and Neil and their preparations. It's reckless and foolish, but they cannot stop themselves. Once the first kiss was initiated, they both knew that there was no turning back, knew exactly where this was going to lead, yet they continued. And if she weren't the sergeant of the team, Aurora would probably give them another thirty minutes, lounging on the cot with each other, Alfred's fingertips massaging her scalp, hers tracing nonsense patters on his naked abdomen. As it is, she forces herself to untangle from him and starts putting her clothes back on. Feels the distance grow between them with every layer she adds. She leaves her hair messy for the remainder of the preparations. Needs that reminder of who she is, for at least a few more hours. Until she has to go back to being Helene Bauer, that goddamn German widow that will not leave her alone.

Alfred hands her a hairpin during the last five minutes. They've been scrambling to make it on time and she's growing frustrated when the neatly put-together look she's been wearing for Helene is refusing to look right. She meets his eyes in the mirror, sees the sadness in them, but the understanding, too. Slowly reaches up and touches her fingertips to his, accepting the pin and putting it in place. There. Better.

Thirteen hours later, she'll use the pin to open a suitcase and replace the documents on the resistance in Norway the SS-officer is carrying.

 

 

_1947_

Her skin is clammy as her chest heaves. Aurora forces herself to take a deep breath, and another, dimly aware of how tightly her fingers are curled into her bedsheets.

When she's caught her breath, after what feels like an eternity, she stretches out and turns on the light on her nightstand, bathing the bedroom in golden light that, for a moment, hurts her eyes. She shields them, turning the gesture into a tired rubbing of her eyelids.

_Just a dream. Just a dream. Just a dream._

She repeats it in her head, hopes that, in time, it will not be followed by _but it felt so real_.

Nightmares don't plague her often. She knows herself well enough now when she is too tense as she goes to bed so she takes a mild sedative to make sure she will have a dreamless night.

They're not always the same dreams. Sometimes, she's being chased through the woods by Nazis and dogs, is running for her life the fastest her feet will carry her. Sometimes, she dreams of René and the way it felt, the knife slipping into his chest. Sometimes, she dreams of Tom, of brave, smiling Tom whose mouth suddenly spits blood and whose body crumbles right in front of her. Sometimes, she dreams of tortured Neil, bandages around his knuckles soaked with blood she cannot figure out if it belongs to him or his opponent. Sometimes, she dreams of Alfred, battered Alfred as he stepped off the truck. Alfred at the end of her gun, nodding at her to take the shot and her hand shaking and her heart unable to pull the trigger.

Sometimes, she dreams of bedsheets soaked in red, pain shooting through her stomach that leaves her howling.

Tonight, it had been a mixture of being chased through the woods, and the horror images she's seen of the camps. A lingering sense of dread that still clings to her skin whenever she thinks of Europe now. There's been a report on the TV earlier, probably what triggered tonight's episode of her personal hell.

With a shake of her head, she throws back the covers and gets out of bed. She needs to walk around, stretch for a bit. Get a glass of cold water, make sure that the apartment door is locked, the windows are closed. Little routines to trick herself into believing she's save.

She's partway down the hall when she hears the whimper. Whirls around and races for her son's room, any attempt of trying to be as quiet as possible abandoned.

"Gavriel," she breathes as she switches on the light. The boy is sitting in bed, shaking. First, she thinks it's a nightmare, until she gathers him into her arms and realizes that his skin is burning up. She gasps at the hotness, the clammy stickiness of his sweat. His eyes are glassy with fever and she lets out a curse as she presses her hand against his forehead.

" _Merde_ ," Aurora mutters and picks him up, complete with his blanket, and races for the door. Hammers on that of her neighbors', shouting for help. She doesn't have a telephone, didn't want a line put into her apartment for safety reasons. She didn't think that she might need it for the same reason.

"What on earth-" the older man grumbles when he opens his door, security chain pulled taunt. His face falls when he sees her cradling her child, sees the terrified expression on her face. He lets out a soft curse and closes the door, already shouting for his wife before he opens it. Takes the boy from her and takes quick strides to the bathroom, unceremoniously dumping Gavriel into the tub as he turns on the showerhead.

The boy lets out an agonized wail as the cold water hits his heated skin and Aurora clamps her hand over her mouth, stifling her own cry. She's dimly aware of someone squeezing her shoulders and leading her from the bathroom, unable to protest. She's pushes into a chair by the telephone, but only catches fragments of the conversation.

"Aurora," her female neighbor's gentle voice pulls her from her stupor and she turns her head to stare blankly at the woman. Who is holding out a robe to her. It's only then that she realizes she's sitting there in only the slip she wore to bed.

"It will be alright," Katrine tells her, rubs her hands up and down Aurora's upper arms after she'd helped her into the morning robe. It's way too big, she's practically drowning in it. "Gustave is bringing his temperature down, the ambulance will be here in a few moments..."

Aurora blocks out her words after that. When the ambulance arrives, she insists on being the one to carry her shaking, shivering child. Gavriel is still wailing, but he quietens a bit, once he is in her arms. She shouldn't have let go of him, Aurora berates herself on the way to the hospital. He'd needed her, and she'd failed him so miserably-

She waits in the hallway for three hours, by herself. And then her father shows up, carrying a small suitcase.

"Your neighbors called," he tells her, shifting uneasily when she gives him a blank stare. "Madame Perrie, she put some clothes together, for you and the boy..."

He stops then, because Aurora clamps a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs as she curls in on herself. She hears him put down the suitcase and then feels her father sit down on the plastic chair beside hers, his strong arms wrapping around her as she lets out an anguished sob.

She cannot lose him. She cannot lose Gavriel. It's the one thought that repeats over and over in her head.

_I will lose him. I cannot lose him. I will lose him. I cannot lose him._

She's pretty sure her hysterical sobbing draws a nurse, and a doctor, because the glass of water that they give her tastes bitter. Normally, she would object to being given anything, because in her state, she might begin to spill her thoughts and there is no telling where that might lead, but even when she realizes what the taste means, she keeps drinking, empties the glass easily.

It takes another two hours until she is told anything. By then, she has calmed down, though her father is still holding her and she is still resting against his side. She stands for the doctor, staggering slightly. Too much sedative in her system, she thinks and shakes her head in order to clear the cobwebs.

They manages to bring his fever down, for the time being. Gavriel developed a rash while they were working on him, making it easier to diagnose the reason for the sudden high fever. Measles. Goddamn stupid measles.

 

 

_1948_

Her hand shakes when she picks up the phone, finger hovering over the wheel. Aurora clenches her eyes shut, forces a deep breath, a steady exhale. Opens her eyes and starts dialing.

The line clicks and crackles and rings and she leans against the table in an attempt to steady herself. She hasn't heard his voice in so long, he hasn't heard hers in just as long. Maybe he doesn't want to hear it now. Maybe she has hurt him too deeply to ever fix what broke between the two of them.

" _Hello?_ "

Her heart skips a beat and then shatters on the floor at the sound of the female voice answering the phone. She opens her mouth but cannot make herself speak, cannot find anything to say. Her brain is completely blank.

_Please don't hang up._

_It's me._

_I am so, so sorry._

All the things she would have said had he answered, Aurora cannot say now. There's a woman at the apartment. One who doesn't think it's necessary to introduce herself on the phone, one who gives a simple 'hello' as greeting. One who assumes people who are calling know who she is.

_She's too late._

Aurora clenches her eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of tears, lowering the receiver from her ear, her arm hanging limply at her side. She's faintly aware of the voice coming from it before she turns and hangs it up.

 

 

_1946_

It is so strange to her, to be able to be openly Jewish again. Hebrew words and Jiddish phrases mixing into conversations that cause her brain to freeze for a fearful second as she tries to not react visibly to them, until she realizes she can. She is allowed to react, to show familiarity. To understand and respond in kind as far as she is able to.

She swears up and down that Gavriel will never go through what she did. That he will never have to be ashamed of his heritage, of his religious believes. She wants to believe so badly that the world has finally moved past that, that they are rebuilding a society that won't judge based on these things. But history keeps repeating itself, so the doubt and the anxiety lingers on her skin.

He loves the menorah. She bought it from her second paycheck. Gilded, proudly displayed on the mantel in the living room. Gavriel sits, sometimes, on the floor and stares at it, the light reflecting off it. She wonders then, what it means to him now. What it might come to mean to him.

To her, it's a symbol of strength. Of not forgetting. Of knowing where she comes from. Of remembering what has been lost, what was taken from her in heinous crimes whose effects are rippling all across the world still.

Her mother lights the candle carefully, her voice carrying as she intones the words. Hebrew sounds wonderful, spoken aloud, without fear. No more hushed voices, no more hiding.

Gavriel squirms in her lap and Aurora tightens her hold on him, keeps him back so he won't touch the flame by accident. Closes her eyes and presses her nose against his temple, inhales his scent. Her parents' house and Gavriel and the candle burning, the Hebrew filling the spaces in-between, they all combine to a strange feeling, one that hits her with a sudden intensity she wasn't prepared for.

_Home._

She's finally home. In that moment, on the first night of Hannukah of 1946, three years after she returned to Canada, she feels, for the first time, that she is home. A weight leaves her shoulders, her being shifts, a lightness coming over her. Old wounds cease to stop throbbing, at least for a moment.

 

 

_1948_

"Luft," she says as she lifts the receiver to her ear. Gavriel sticks out his tongue at her and she returns the gesture before waving him on. She hears the door to their apartment open and the knocking on the one across the hall, hears his childish voice call out to their neighbors and shakes her head in amusement.

It takes her a moment to realize no one has said anything in reply to her greeting.

"Hello?" Aurora asks and shifts, a frown appearing on her face. The line is silent, except for the occasional crackle, and then:

" _I shouldn't have called._ "

Her breath leaves her in a big rush and she has to grab the edge of the desk to keep upright. She almost drops the receiver and scrambles to keep it in her hand, her palms suddenly sweaty.

"Alfred."

His name leaves her in a breathy whisper. She closes her eyes and sees green and brown and red. The grass of the fields they walked along, the forest that flew past as they raced to catch another train. Brown earth coming up to meet them when they threw themselves down as a jeep went up in an explosion, the mud splattered across their clothing and faces. Blood soaking through bandages and oozing from cuts and blooming from split lips.

" _Aurora,_ " he replies, his voice shaky, barely carrying over the line and the distance.

“I, I am sorry,” she stammers, turning to look over her shoulder. Sees Gustave pick up her child, their son, and wave at her. “I, have to go...” she mutters, taking a breath to explain that she was just on her way out, but they can talk, he can call her back in two hours, or she can, and then they can finally talk-

The line clicks loudly with the sound of Alfred hanging up. She whispers his name, again and again before the voice of the operator comes on, telling her the call has been disconnected. Aurora presses a hand over her mouth and exhales shakily, hopes that she will be able to keep the tears at bay as she thanks the woman and hangs up. When she joins them, Gavriel is distracted by the new train Gustave just acquired, watches as it makes its way along the track set up in the living room. Victoire wraps an arm around her shoulder and rubs her upper arm, hard. A strange gesture of comfort, and Aurora cannot help but attempt a smile, though she’s pretty sure it comes out more as a grimace.

 

 

_1947_

“Give it here.”

She takes a step back from the sink, her soapy hands dripping water all over the floor. Her mother’s voice sounded strained when she just spoke, and Aurora furrows her brows when she sees Gavriel hide something behind his back, clearly ignoring his grandmother’s request.

With a shake of her head, she grabs a dish towel and wipes her hands as she walks over into the sitting room, not bothering to inquire what this is about. She takes the item from her son’s hands wordlessly and hands it over to her mother before slapping him lightly upside the head, ruffling his curls.

Her own parents never hit her. Well, her mother did, twice. Slapped her right across the face, so hard that her head flew to the side and she had five red finger marks burning on her skin for the rest of the day. She remembers clearly what she’d said to prompt that reaction, and as an adult now, she knows she had been completely out of line when she’d talked to her mother that way, even with the leniency they had given her because she’d been a teenager she should never even have thought of saying those words.

She doesn’t hit Gavriel, would never think to. Neither do her parents, she knows that. Her father wouldn’t dream of laying a hand on any child, never mind his own grandson.

But sometimes, when he is being particularly stubborn, she finds that a light cuff upside his head pulls him from his tantrum. She tried squeezing his shoulder and tapping his arm, but neither work. It reminds her of his father, in a strange way. How, if he froze, there was only one way of pulling him from whatever was playing in his head, and it had been shouting and physical force combined. Well, she hates to shout at Gavriel, and if a light jostle accomplishes what took a lot of pulling and shaking with Alfred, well...

It is only then that she realizes what her son had been holding. Aurora lets out a soft sigh and kneels down to look at him. He’s so small, so innocent. Beautiful, and fragile.

“Aurora,” her mother mutters and she looks over at her. Sees the yellow fabric in her hand, the glasses peeking out from it. She swallows, hard, and takes a shuddering breath.

“Where,” she starts and has to clear her throat because it is constricting with emotion, “where did you get this?” she asks. Gavriel watches her, his eyes flicker from her to his grandmother and back.

“Grandfather’s study,” he finally answers and ducks his head, knowing he will get punished. He’s not allowed into the study by himself, and Aurora knows her father is still out, helping a friend fix something on his house. And her mother is too weak to take him, and she was cleaning up the remainders of dinner.

“Gavriel,” she starts and shakes her head. Reaches out to stroke his cheek, feeling tears brim in her eyes. Oh, why does she have to have this conversation with him? Why couldn’t the world have been a kinder place, devoid of the cruelties and abominations happening just years before?

“Come here, child," her mother mutters and motions for the boy. He walks over and lets her lift him into his lap. Aurora watches as she presses a kiss to his temple and strokes back his unruly mess of hair. He needs another haircut, she thinks with no small amount of resignation. Aurora stands and walks over to sit down at the end of the couch her mother is resting on. They exchange a look, both of them uncertain of how to go about this.

There are pictures everywhere in this house. Of her, and Lotte, as children. Playing together in German fields, walking Canadian streets while holding hands. Pictures of her parents when they were younger, when they were children. Pictures of her paternal grandparents, posing with her father, and more candid shots, taken on family vacations and at celebrations. Her favorite is of her Oma and Opa dancing at their wedding anniversary. There are two versions of it, one is mounted on the wall up the stairs, the family wall, where everyone has a picture. And one sits on the desk in her father’s study. She gave it to him, after they received news that his parents had been deported to Auschwitz and had perished there. He’d been inconsolable, and she hadn’t known any way of making him feel better, aside from a reminder of how happy his parents had used to be, together. A small comfort that they had died together as well.

In one of the pictures, Lotte wears a yellow star. It’s grey, sits on her chest, ruining the outfit. _Jude_ is written on it, the German word branding her. Gavriel never asked about it. He’s too young to understand what it means, the star and the word alike. Doesn’t know of the horrors that were suffered by their people at the hands of the Germans.

“Grandfather doesn’t wear glasses," Gavriel’s voice pulls her from her thoughts. Aurora shakes her head and reaches out to stroke the boy’s back in a soft caress.

"No, he doesn’t,” she confirms as she watches her mother unwrap the pair of eyeglasses carefully.

“These belonged to his father,” she says, her voice soft, tinged with a sadness Aurora can hardly stand. She knows her mother loved her father-in-law. He cherished her, made her feel welcome into the family. She’d been worried, because she’d been French-Canadian, and Aurora’s father German, but when they’d realized that their son had found himself a Jewish girl, in Paris, his parents couldn’t have cared if she’d hailed from the moon.

Aurora remembers being six years old, and her grandfather reading to her, and Lotte. Her cousin had been two and full of energy. She’d started climbing around on him, and knocked his glasses off in the process. Instead of scolding her, the man had laughed and tickled her and Aurora, his glasses lying forgotten on the floor. She remembers being eight and putting them on herself, and the world becoming distorted, huge and blurry at the same time. It had nearly made her sick. Her grandfather had chuckled and taken it from her nose to put them on himself, telling her that now she knew what the world looked like to him without his glasses.

The neighbors had sent a few items. After the war. The things they had rescued - _stolen_ , part of Aurora insists - before the Nazis seized the apartment her grandparents had owned. There had been a huge parcel, containing some family heirlooms. A silver comb, her grandmother’s initials stamped on the back. Some dresses, cut to fit someone slightly bigger than Aurora, having belonged to her cousin. Lotte had lived with them, the last few months, before they were all taken. She’d wanted to get out of the village she’d lived in, see the big city, and their grandparents had struggled to get by on their own. It had been the perfect solution, Lotte could live in the city and the old couple would receive help in the household. If only they had known-

Aurora shakes her head resolutely. None of them could have known what monsters the Germans were, what horrible, unmentionable things they were capable of doing to their own people, just because they followed a different faith.

“What’s that?” Gavriel asks, ignoring the glasses when his grandmother holds them out for him to inspect, instead pointing at the yellow piece of cloth they had been wrapped in.

Aurora cut it from one of Lotte’s dresses. She remembers sitting in the kitchen of her parents’ house and painstakingly removing the neat stitches with which the yellow stars had been pinned to the garments.

_If they are going to make me wear them, I shall wear them with pride._

Lotte had said that, when Aurora had last seen her. They’d met in Paris, when Lotte had turned eighteen, and Aurora had been finishing her studies in journalism. She’d picked her cousin up at the train station and stared at the yellow star fastened to her coat in shock. She’d have thought that the first chance she got, Lotte would take it off, but she’d waited until they were at Aurora’s tiny apartment before she’d changed into a dress without a star on its chest.

“It’s...” Aurora’s mother begins, but falters, unsure of how to begin to even explain this.

“It used to belong to Lotte,” she tells her son. Lifts him onto her lap and kisses his temple before carefully taking the cloth from her mother. Smoothes it out in her hands so its shape becomes clear. Hesitates as Gavriel runs his fingers over the material, traces the letters on it.

“Do you know what Jew means?” she asks him. Feels her mother tense beside her.

“We’re Jews,” Gavriel answers automatically. “It means grandfather and I wear funny hats when we go to temple.”

His explanation makes her laugh and Aurora quickly stifles the sound behind her hand.

“That,” she starts, then shakes her head. “That is kind of right,” she admits. She used to think these little hats were for old people, when they started losing their hair. Her father never wore one outside of temple, but her grandfather used to wear one everywhere, before...

“But it is more than that,” she tells him, stroking his hair back from his face. “People who are Jewish believe in a certain G-d. They have special traditions, and customs. They have their own language, with its own letters. Like the card you got from Monsieur Perrie, for your birthday. It had Hebrew on it.”

“Is that a Jewish tradition?” Gavriel asks her, holding onto the star. “Yellow stars?”

“No,” Aurora answers firmly and her fists curl, balling up the fabric. “I need you to understand something, mon ange,” she tells him, watches Gavriel’s face and waits until he nods. “Some time ago, there was, a horrible, horrible man,” she starts and feels the tears begin to burn in her eyes. “His name was Adolf Hitler, and he, he hated Jews. He thought we were filthy, and he blamed us for everything that went wrong. And that man, he, he ruled a country, called Germany. Where your grandfather’s parents lived, and where Lotte lived, and where grandfather was born. And Hitler was so, filled, with this hate, that he told his people about it. He made up lies about the Jews, and he told them so many times that people, they, begun to believe them.”

“But why?” Gavriel asks and Aurora shrugs.

“I don’t know,” she admits and closes her eyes when he reaches out to wipe a tear from her cheek. “But they did, and they, decided, that, they would be better off without the Jews.”

“So they kicked them out?”

She nods and swallows against the lump in her throat.

“But there were too many,” she hears her mother whisper when she can’t go on. Gavriel turns his attention to her, looks at his grandmother with a soft frown on his face, trying to follow what they are telling them. “So they set up, camps. For the Jews to live in. They were, bad places.”

“Like prisons?”

“No,” Aurora shakes her head quickly. “Worse. Because no matter what the Germans said, no matter what anyone ever tells you, we didn’t deserve to be locked up. People go to prison because they have done something wrong, they’ve committed a crime. German Jews never committed any crimes that meant they deserved to be locked up and treated like this. No one, no matter where they are from, deserves to be treated like that.”

“People in prison wear special clothes,” Gavriel mutters, tracing his little fingers over his mother’s fist, where the edges of the cloth peek out. “The Germans told the Jews to wear this?”

“That’s right,” Aurora hears her mother says, tears choking her voice.

“But if it was wrong to lock them up,” the little boy wonders, “why did grandfather keep it? What happened to Lotte, did they let her out of the prison?”

She wraps her arms around him and pulls Gavriel against her in a tight hug. Kisses his forehead and his temples and the tip of his nose.

“They didn’t let her out,” she tells him, slowly. “Lotte was at a camp called Bergen-Belsen. She got very, very sick there. There was no doctor, and no medicine, and... and she died.”

Gavriel frowns and then leans in again, wrapping his arms around her.

“I’m sorry, maman,” he mutters and she holds him tightly. Hides her face in his mop of hair and inhales the scent of his shampoo and the laundry soap. Home. Safety.

“Me, too,” she replies and pulls him back. Attempts a smile, though she knows it is more of a sad grimace. “I loved her, very, very much. She was, special. She loved to tell jokes, and she could sing so beautifully...” she trails off with a shuddering breath. “When people die, sometimes, it hurts a lot. And keeping things that belonged to them, it makes it easier,” she tries to explain, furrowing her brows.

“Like books they used to read all the time. Their favorite music. A piece of jewelry they wore often,” her mother continues, touching her necklace briefly. It used to belong to Aurora’s maternal grandmother. The woman died, well before she’d been born, but she cannot remember ever seeing her mother without that necklace. It makes her wonder if maybe, when her mother passes, she will keep it as a memento of her.

“I’m tired,” Gavriel tells them and cuddles close to his mother, who rocks him gently.

“I know,” she mutters to him and kisses his hair. “Do you want to lie with grandmother for a bit?” she asks and the boy nods. She hands him over carefully, waits until her mother has set aside her father-in-law’s glasses to prevent them from being damaged. She watches as the two get settled, Gavriel sticking his thumb into his mouth as he closes his eyes. Hears her mother hum a melody under her breath that it takes her a moment to recognize as something Lotte used to sing all the time.

When she is back in the kitchen, the water in the sink has gone cold. With a sigh, she drains it and grabs the kettle to put it on again.

Life goes on. Perhaps that is the most tragic thing. And at the same time, it is strangely comforting to know.

 

 

_1948_

_You have a son._

_I was pregnant when I left Germany._

_That night we made love, we made a child._

_His name is Gavriel. He is yours._

She can’t say it. Can’t say anything, really. Just stares at him, stares across the table at Alfred, who stares at her, an expression on his face she cannot read.

“Oh, I missed you,” she breathes and clamps her hand over her mouth in shock. Of all the things she could have said to him, should have said, this is the first one that makes it past her lips, and it is such a selfish statement it makes her want to hide in shame.

To her surprise, Alfred’s lips twitch, briefly, into the faintest hint of a smile.

“So did I,” he tells her, a frown appearing on his face. He reaches out slowly, touches a curl of her hair.

“It’s longer,” he observes and it makes her nod. Her mother has been telling her she needs to get it cut, and she keeps telling her she will, when she finds the time. Between work and Gavriel and the hospital, there isn’t much time for things like this. She can cut her son’s hair herself, or she lets Madame Perrie do it, if the result has to be presentable. She never thought to ask the older woman if she might take the scissors to her own curls, not wanting to be rude.

“You look...” he starts and then swallows hard, so loud Aurora can hear it.

“I know,” she replies. It is so strange, to live like this, now. To be in a country without war, living in peace. She remembers Europe vividly, remembers everything with such detail and clarity that she finds lacking when she thinks of the years since the war. Things were different over there. Life was different. Dangerous, yes, but with an urgency, with a sense of determination... The peace and quiet here, they are unsettling sometimes. They wear her out, it feels like she is just waiting for another huge explosion. Waits, constantly, for the other shoe to drop.

There’s a haunted expression in his eyes, one she knows from looking in the mirror every day. Sometimes it disappears. She has pictures where she looks almost normal, where it seems like she is happy. Where she smiles and it reaches her eyes, and the pain and anguish in them disappears for the time it takes for the camera shutter to open and close again. Neil had the same expression, and she remembers seeing it in Harry’s eyes, as well. Has seen it since returning here a handful of times, too. In men, soldiers that served in either war and brought back the invisible baggage of memories too horrible to talk about.

“I, have something I need to show you,” she finally finds her voice and opens her purse. With trembling fingers, she takes the photograph and places it down on the table, facing Alfred.

Gavriel is grinning at the camera. He’s wearing a suit, his first. Her father insisted that the boy needed a proper suit for his first day of school. The picture was taken four weeks ago. She still cannot believe that she has a son that is already going to school now.

Alfred’s fingers tremble as he reaches out and gently traces Gavriel’s face in the picture. He looks up, a question in his eyes, and she nods, wordlessly. Feels her throat constrict and has to concentrate so she won’t burst into tears in this restaurant.

His gaze lowers again, his mouth opening, moving without making a sound. And then he lets out a sob. Curls in on himself, hugs himself, and for a moment, Aurora stares in surprise and shock. And then she reaches out, pries his hands away and holds them between her own. Makes a shushing sound and leans forward so her forehead touches his.

“It’s alright,” she tells him, and feels Alfred shake his head, shudders running through him as he tries to regain control. “It’s okay,” she repeats and waits patiently. Makes soft shushing noises and humms while he attempts to put himself together after unravelling like this.

—

“Is he... like, _me_?”

Alfred’s voice is barely audible when he asks. The question hangs in the air between them, words almost visible with the fear and dread.

Aurora swallows and shifts, kicking against the gravel on the path. Then she shrugs.

“I don’t know,” she admits. Feels Alfred’s tension as he walks next to her, feels him pause and does the same. Turns to look at him, at the confusion on his face.

_How can you not know?_

“I think he may have some of it,” she tells him, slowly, quickly reaching for his hand when he turns away. “Alfred, hey,” she breathes and pulls him back. “Some of it,” she repeats, emphasizing, hoping she reaches him through the horror and memories that are no doubt currently invading her brain. “I don’t believe he has your memory, and I am pretty sure colors don’t have a taste, or smell, to him,” she tells him. Alfred takes a shuddering breath and nods, once, twice. Allows her to pull him closer, leans in to rest his forehead against hers.

“Then what...” he starts, but his voice gives out, too thick with emotion.

“He was two when he first said something about my father’s voice sounding red,” Aurora mutters. Feels him tense again, and quickly continues. “He doesn’t do it very often. Either because he doesn’t yet realize that is not how everyone sees these things, or because it doesn’t happen often. He’s, sensitive, to loud, discordant sounds. Like dogs barking, or someone being horrible at playing piano. And he used to ask me to ‘sing the green song’. It took me a while to figure out what he meant by that.”

To her surprise, she sees his lips curve into a smile.

“Which song is that?” he asks and Aurora shakes her head in amusement.

“ _Compere Guilleri_ ,” she tells him. Sees him frown and shakes her head again before she humms the melody under her breath. Alfred closes his eyes, calm washing over his face. She reaches up, rests her hand on the back of his neck. Inhales shakily, allows herself to take in his proximity, his presence, his nervous energy. Oh, how she’s missed him. She forgot how much her entire being longed for this closeness, how much she’d needed to be close to him. Now, standing so close to him, she’s almost overwhelmed with years of repressed anguish and longing.

* * *

He freezes when he sees them. Her father and their son, playing in the yard with Peter. At first she thinks that he’s worried about the dog, but then she realizes that his eyes are glued to Gavriel as he runs around, arms outstretched as he makes airplane noises. She watches as her father runs up to him and lifts him into the air and the boy’s laughter echoes.

“I can’t,” he breathes and Aurora’s heart falls. Plummets to the ground and continues through it as she turns to look at him. He’s frozen, absolute fear written all over his face. “He won’t like me, he’ll think I’m a freak-”

“Alfred,” she cuts off his rant and grabs his hand in both of hers. Squeezes tightly as she lifts it up to her chest. She wants to tell him Gavriel will love him. Will adore the ground he walks on and look at him like he’s hung the moon. That he will never think badly of him. But she can’t. Because she knows life can be cruel, and she also knows that if she did any of that, Alfred wouldn’t believe her for one second.

“You’re his father,” she reminds him. It’s the first time she’s said it out loud, and she feels her voice tremble with emotion. Feels Alfred lean against her, heavily. “I don’t think anything else is going to matter to him, at all.”

* * *

She steadfastly ignores the ring on his finger. Doesn’t address it, nor the fact that, when she’d called the number Neil had given her, there had been a woman who’d answered the phone. Forces herself not to look at it.

He asks to use her telephone and she lets him. Makes sure that she leaves the door to the bedroom open so she can eavesdrop while she looks for some linen. It is late, he’s tired. Truth be told, she expected him to turn down the offer of the couch, but he’d taken it with only a second’s hesitation. She didn’t miss that his eyes darted to Gavriel when he did.

She hears him speak in low, almost hushed English. Yes, he’s made it, the journey was alright. Yes, he’s found his old friend. They’ve been catching up with each other, so much has happened... No, he isn’t at the hotel, the friend offered him the couch, and it is late... Yes, he will look after himself, and Aurora realizes with a start that he says that with a smile in his voice. She shakes her head and pulls herself from her thoughts. Grabs a pillow from the closet, and a blanket, and goes to make herself busy. Alfred watches her enter the room and she motions for him that it’s fine. She’d planned on putting the bed up while he was on the phone, but then she realizes that her masochist streak isn’t quite that bad, so she merely sets the linen down and retreats to the kitchen. Puts on the kettle in an attempt to drown out any further conversation that may carry over.

What exactly did she expect? That he’d wait for her, for years, when she’d abandoned him without notice, without ever giving him a reason?

She finds that, despite its ridiculousness, the answer is yes. That is exactly what she expected. That his feelings for her were as strong as hers for him. That the mere thought of sharing his life with anyone else, after knowing what they had, together, wouldn’t be appealing at all.

She was wrong. And it might be the one mistake that hurts the most.

* * *

Her name is Clara, Gavriel informs her one day. He went snooping and found a picture. Alfred - _papa_ , Gavriel calls him, and it still feels jarring to her - told him she has red hair, and brown eyes, and she makes the best apple pie in the whole world.

Aurora forces a smile at her son’s words and tries to hide how hard they hit. She has no one to blame for this except herself. She walked away and never tried to find him after the war. She kept his son a secret from him.

Alfred tells her they aren’t married a few days later. She’s trying to proofread an article that she should have handed in two days ago, but she cannot seem to concentrate. She keeps looking up to see him on the floor with Gavriel, the two of them playing with a set of wooden trains. A present from Alfred. He’d cleared it with her first, sort of. Asked her if Gavriel might like trains, if he might buy him a small present, so they could bond over something... She’d told him trains were a good idea, and to go ahead if he wanted to.

Every time she looks at him for more than two seconds, Alfred looks over. Usually, he attempts to smile. Sometimes, he gives her a questioning look, and she shakes her head and points at Gavriel, acting like she was just watching their child. The eleventh time it happens, Alfred gets up and joins her at the table, ruining what is left of her concentration.

They watch Gavriel play by himself briefly, before Alfred turns and studies her. Openly, without shame. It makes her uncomfortable, the intensity of his gaze, and Aurora squirms and touches the back of her neck before she asks him if there is something wrong. And then he tells her about Clara. How he met her, walking the halls of Bletchley during the war. The place where all the code breakers were. Where he would have gone, had they gained access to Freya. Where he went, after their mission in Munich was done. She was engaged, to a soldier, someone with a bright smile that got blown out by a German tank. By then, he’d been wearing a ring already, as part of his cover in Germany, and simply hadn’t taken it off. They bonded, over their heartache. He’d thought she may have died, wasn’t sure if she was still alive, and in any case, she was dead to him. It was easier to pretend that he’d been engaged, married, briefly, and lost his wife, than to admit that the woman he’d fallen so deeply in love with had vanished from his life without a trace.

They have an apartment together. _Separate bedrooms_. Why he insists on sharing that detail with her, Aurora doesn’t know. They share their lives with each other, that’s more than she could ever dream of having with him. What does it matter to her if Alfred doesn’t sleep in the same room as the woman he called to make sure she wouldn’t worry about him?

* * *

They kiss after the second bottle of wine. Most of which is in her system, and that may be why she leans in to capture his lips. Or it may be because she’s just really lousy of dealing with her emotions, and Alfred has always meant safety to her. Warmth, and love, and being cared for. Someone who would accept her with all her faults and her incredibly long list of atrocious things she’s done, the unmentionable actions that weigh so heavy on her conscience.

Her mother’s funeral was a rather somber affair. She worries about her father, about how he hasn’t eaten in days. Hence why she is staying at his house right now, with Gavriel. Alfred came for the funeral, and then he stayed, because there was something in her eyes when she said she’d be fine that told him she was lying. Or perhaps it had been the taste of her voice. He still remembers how it used to taste, when she wasn’t telling the truth.

She wonders what it tastes like, when she tells him she loves him. She is drunk, absolutely, and this is the worst idea she’s ever had, aside from a few made whilst being undercover. The worst idea she’s had since the war ended, that is for certain. But she wants, needs him to know this. Needs him to know that she never wanted to hurt him like this, never thought that things would spiral so out of control.

To her surprise, he kisses back. Soft and gentle, the way she remembers their very first kiss, in that safehouse in Paris, moments before they left to turn Faber. Moments before possibly walking to their deaths.

She feels his thumbs on her face, stroking her cheeks as he cradles her head gently. Closes her eyes and savors the feeling, savors being this close to him, closer than she thought she might ever be again. He kisses her again, on her lips, and then the bridge of her nose, her temples, her forehead. Her eyelids. And something about the way he does it, so slow, without any hurry, tears down the wall she put into place and the dam bursts and she just breaks down into tears.

Alfred pulls her close and holds her as she cries. Desperate sounds of pain and emotional anguish leave her, and he simply strokes her hair, rubs her back, and holds her against him. Makes soft shushing sounds and presses kiss after kiss to the crown of her head.

* * *

He goes back to London three days after. Has to, because his vacation is up, and Clara misses him and she’ll start to worry. The is something Aurora says, in an attempt to let him know she understands. The kisses were just, him trying to comfort her. She gets that. She gets that he has a girlfriend and needs to go back, and she won’t hold that against him.

Alfred has a strange expression on his face when she mentions Clara, and then he shakes his head slightly, as if to clear his thoughts. He promises he is going to write, asks her if she’d be willing to translate letters for Gavriel? His French isn’t the best, especially in written form, and-

Of course she will. When she’d made those choices, years ago, they’d never been born out of a desire to keep him from their son, or prevent Gavriel from knowing his father. She wants him to have that, even if it will only be in the form of letters, and perhaps the occasional phone call.

It’s hard to explain it to him, why Alf- _papa_ , has to leave. Aurora likes to think her son understands that separate people have their own lives, and that they might not intersect with others all the time. Still, he’s grown so attached to Alfred in so short a time, it is downright cruel to tell him he won’t see him again, for a while at least. Alfred tells him he’ll try to make it for Christmas, and Aurora lets out a laugh at that. He stares at her in confusion, and then his face morphs into a look of realization before he ducks his head sheepishly. He forgot. Alfred, with his memory, forgot that they’re Jewish and don’t celebrate Christmas. But, part of Aurora chimes in, they can start to. He is Gavriel’s father, after all. They can celebrate Christmas, if that is what will make him visit.

 

 

_1949_

They never made it for Christmas. Her work schedule had been erratic, between that and her father breaking a leg because he fell from the roof of his house - stupid, stubborn old men - she’d had practically no time for anything else, and he’d been tied up in London, and yeah.

He’s been good about sending letters. At least one every week, detailing things about his life. He tells Gavriel what he is working on, most of which are reports, which he deems rather boring. Writes to him about a new restaurant that opened down the street from where he lives and declares the food pretty attrocious. It’s supposed to be French cuisine, but Alfred’s lettering tells their son that his mother would have a very strong opinion about the quality of this food. Tells him how the lights went out during a blackout, and he couldn’t find the candles in the dark and stubbed his toe really hard. It makes her laugh when she reads it and she just can imagine him hobbling around in the dark, looking for matches. How can someone with his memory forget the layout of his own apartment?

About ten letters in, he starts to include little notes, for her. Most of them are questions about Gavriel, if it might be appropriate to include such-and-such detail, what his reaction was to the last letter, oh, and he saw this wonderful children’s book the other day, but it’s an English edition and he doesn’t know if it is out in French- And then there are other things. Adult things, that make her frown at the paper and his handwriting. It’s different, in those small paragraphs. The rest of the letter is always neat, almost as if he wants Gavriel to be able to read it himself, though he merely started school and has no idea about how to read in French just yet, never mind reading and understanding English. But the parts for her, they’re different. His lettering more erratic, as if he writes them quickly, and doesn’t dare to linger too long on the details. Perhaps he adds them just moments before he shoves them into the envelope and glues it shut, before he can change his mind.

He mentions getting new bedspreads in letter twenty-three. It’s in the part of their son, and Alfred tells him they’re blue, and he got a pillow to match. The saleswoman was surprised when he walked into the shop, but after some awkwardness, he told her what he was looking for, and she was magnificient help. It makes Aurora frown slightly when she reads it and translates it for their son, confusion sitting in the back of her mind, until she reaches the end of the letter. Reaches the paragraphs for her, and finds out that he has moved, to an apartment for just himself. He sends his new address and asks her to not mail any more letters to the old one. He wouldn’t want to hurt Clara more than he already has.

Letter twenty-nine arrives late and only gives her a day and a half to prepare for his visit. It’s spontaneous and something that doesn’t sound like the Alfred she knew, but then again, between the one she knew and the one he is now are six years. He has a suitcase, a big one, she thinks, for a week of staying in Canada.

He takes them out to dinner. She wants to argue, tell him that it’ll be a waste of money, with Gavriel. He’s a little child, he can’t sit still for hours, he’ll make a mess-

“It’ll be fine,” Alfred merely tells her, his lips quirking into a soft smile, and she loses all energy of protesting.

It is a mess. Kind of. The waiter eyes them when they step inside, eyes lingering on the child between them. Aurora places her hand on Gavriel’s shoulder protectively. She doesn’t like people staring at him, doesn’t like them looking too long at her son. An echo of her training, that she doesn’t like to stay on people’s minds, prefers anonymity, being a ghost, in a way. The same sense she hates the mere thought of picture day. The knowledge that there exists, somewhere, negatives of her son’s face, that some stranger has the power to duplicate and do with them whatever he likes.

“Table for three, please,” Alfred tells the man with a smile and she feels his hand settle briefly on her hip. The picture of a family out to celebrate, Alfred and Gavriel with their suits, her with her dress. The only thing that might ruin the impression is that neither her nor Alfred are wearing rings. Oh, she noticed that when she first saw him step off the train and he adjusted his hat.

Gavriel does have table manners, and Alfred is eager to make the experience a pleasant one for him. And Aurora finds herself just watching the two interact. Their son is so fascinated by his father, his eyes are glued to Alfred’s lips. It was hard, prying him away when Alfred had arrived. Gavriel had hugged him and clung to him, meaning that she’d had to carry his luggage and he’s had to navigate his way through the station whilst holding their son in his arms. He hadn’t seemed to mind to badly, though.

“I, have a, present,” Alfred tells them when their empty plates have disappeared, and Gavriel is starting to look tired. He asked if they wanted dessert and Aurora had kicked him beneath the table, incredulous at the idea of putting sugar into a child that is about to be ready to go to bed without protest for a change. Alfred produces a small rectangular present and sets it down in front of Gavriel, who looks at his mother, his little fingers straining as he tries to hold back.

“Go ahead,” she encourages him, eyeing Alfred as their son rips away the paper. He always asks her before buying something for their child. Always clears it with her first. She’s told him he doesn’t have to, reminded him that she doesn’t ask him when she does. Still, every book, every stuffed toy, every wooden train, she knew about beforehand, because Alfred wanted to know she was alright with him giving them to their son. Part of her thinks it might be a money issue, that he feels guilty about not contributing for years. Perhaps he expects her to tell him to buy something more sensible, like shirts, or trousers - G-d knows their son manages to go through those like there’s no tomorrow - or shoes, but even though part of her almost wants to, she can’t bring herself to do it. He’s so enthusiastic when it comes to picking gifts for Gavriel, Alfred almost becomes a little child again himself, and that is something so precious to her she simply cannot ruin it by imposing reality on it.

It’s a carved wooden box. Gavriel frowns, his face falling slightly.

“You can open it, go ahead,” Alfred tells him, turning the box around so the boy can see the clasp. Gavriel carefully pries it open, and out falls- a key. It looks new, the lights of the restaurant reflecting off it.

“A key?” the boy asks, looking at his father with confusion before his face lights up. “For a treasure box?” he exclaims and Aurora hides her face in her hand briefly at the volume of his voice.

“Something like that, yes,” Alfred nods, procuring her keys from beneath the table.

“How-” she starts but cuts herself off, remembering that he received the same training as her. She was better at picking pockets, but apparently she has some catching-up to do, if it escaped her notice that Alfred stole her keys. _When on earth did he do that?_ Probably when Gavriel and her went to the restroom-

“I have, bought a place. Here,” he tells them and Aurora feels her jaw drop in absolute shock. “It’s small, but it has a bedroom for you,” Alfred continues, smiling at their son. “I thought, we could go out tomorrow. Pick a bed, and wallpaper. Something you like.”

“Are you-” she starts hissing at him, but Alfred ignores her, putting the key on her chain instead.

“You can come by, whenever you want. If I’m not home, Maman has the key, you can both let yourselves in.”

She remains quiet until they are back at her place and then she motions for Alfred to follow her. Makes sure that her son’s door is firmly closed, and closes the door to the hallway, too, to prevent her voice from carrying down the hall to his room.

“What on earth were you thinking?!” she snaps at him and reaches out to shove at his chest in indignation. It’s too much, he shouldn’t have done this. What good is a place in this city when he isn’t there most of the time, anyway? It just got Gavriel’s hopes up, he won’t understand that his father won’t actually be living in that apartment-

_But he will_ , Alfred interrupts her. She gets in two more words, before the meaning of his catch up with her, and then she falls quiet, stunned into silence.

There was no reason for him to stay in London. Clara and him, they’ve broken up, if she hadn’t already figured that out by the fact that he moved and bought the new bedspread himself. His job was boring and he simply quit. Sure, he’ll miss Neil, and Mags, but the thing is, it came down to chosing between his friend and his family, and well, it hadn’t been that hard of a choice to make.

Aurora inhales deeply and forces herself to take a few seconds before she responds. _You’re crazy_ , are the first words that make it past her lips. To her surprise, Alfred smiles at them with some amusement and gives a slight shrug. You don’t just, give up everything you’ve built over the past years, drop your life, and move halfway across the world.

Alfred searches her face, his hands in his pockets, stance reminding her a lot of her father. And then he tells her that actually, stepping off the train this morning and knowing he was going to stay, it felt a lot more like coming home than anything else ever did.

* * *

He kisses her on her birthday, in her father’s kitchen. Slow, languid, with his hands on her hips and her back pressed against the counter. She sighs into his mouth and drops the towel to wrap her arms around him and pull him closer.

They shouldn’t be doing this. She owes it to Gavriel to not screw this up. Her son needs his father, and if she does this, she’s bound to drive Alfred away. But he kissed her this time. And she’s noticed how close he’s been the entire day. How, over the past few weeks, he’s kept touching her without there being a reason. How often his hand had settled on her back, how often it had just brushed hers, seemingly by accident.

“I love you,” he breathes against her lips and she tenses. Alfred leans back, horrified surprise written on his features, and she quickly pulls him back in, brushes her lips over his again to ease the tension that’s crept into him.

“You, caught me by surprise,” she murmurs and nudges his nose with hers. Opens her eyes to find his pressed shut, the hold of his hands on her hips tightening. “I didn’t expect this,” Aurora admits and sighs. Lets her head fall forward so their foreheads are touching.

“I’m sorry," Alfred apologizes in a breathless murmur. Her breath hitches in her throat when he steps closer and her body melts against him. She’s needed this, needed this for so long. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, she feels, whole. Almost. Like the cracks on her soul this war has left are slowly healing, closing right before her eyes. It’s wonderful and so painful at the same time, the reminder of how much has been destroyed, how much lost, gone forever.

But this isn’t. She thought it was, but here he is now. Alfred is standing right there, right in front of her, close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek. Her lips taste of coffee and him, his aftershave invades her nose. His shirt is soft under her fingers as she strokes her hands down his back and feels him shudder.

“ _Je t’aime,_ ” she whispers and captures his lips again. It feels good, to be able to say it, out loud, so she does it again, and again, and again. Breathes the words into his mouth between kisses, until the world falls away, and there is only the two of them left. Until there is only Alfred for her to concentrate on.

* * *

“I haven’t...” Alfred mutters when she pulls his shirt off late at night. “Not since that night, in Poland.”

Aurora blinks at him, both surprised and not at all. She hasn’t, either. Couldn’t bring herself to. Hell, she hasn’t even gone out with anyone since returning, how could she have slept with someone?

“Me, either,” she tells him and watches as his face slowly moves, from embarassed to surprised to curious, and then relieved. He reaches out and she feels him slide down the zipper of her dress slowly, and she reaches up and pulls the fabric off her shoulders, leaving it to pool at her feet.

She loves him. Loves him so much she feels her heart might burst. She never thought she could have this again, be this close to him. Touch him, kiss him, and not have Alfred push her away, but instead respond in kind.

They make love all through the night. One upside of having new furniture at his place is that the bed doesn’t creak, and all they have to do is be somewhat mindful of the noise they produce, so they don’t give the neighbors an earful.

As the sun rises and Aurora tries to catch her breath, she finds laughter bubbling up in her throat. She feels giddy and stupidly happy, all of a sudden. Alfred stares at her when she tries to stifle her amusement. Reaches out to touch her cheek and tries to figure out if it was something he did. She shakes her head at him and takes a deep breath.

“I feel...” she starts, but trails off, for lack of words to describe exactly how she feels. Like the first time she jumped from a plane and the parachute opened and she saw the world beneath her, so small and vast at the same time. Like when Alfred had said her name for the first time and everything narrowed down to the two of them, for just one moment. Like when Gavriel had opened his eyes and looked right into hers, his little fingers wrapping around her index finger when she’d held him for the first time.

"Me, too,” Alfred nods. He settles down beside her, on his side so they are facing each other, their skin still clammy with sweat. Aurora shivers lightly, but she doesn’t want to move, not just yet. This is nice, she thinks, as she reaches out and touches Alfred’s cheek. Traces her fingers down his jaw, over the stubble growing. He looks at her, drinks her in, lets his eyes travel over her face, down her throat, over her chest and down her body. And for the first time in forever, she doesn’t feel like she has to hide herself. Being with him, it makes her feel safe, and warm, and happy. The sort of giddy happiness she never thought she could feel again, not like this, not as unreserved, not as wholly.

 

 

_1951_

She tells him, this time. Doesn’t wait to have a doctor confirm it, or tell her its just her body growing older. She tells him the first day she misses a period, and Alfred blinks at her, unsure of what to do with the information.

They never talked about having more children. Truth be told, she didn’t think it would be possible. That there was a reason why she never got pregnant when she was with René, that there never even was a false alarm. Thought that, when her cycle was like clockwork after months of her and Alfred not paying any attention to it, it just confirmed her suspicions. Figured that Gavriel was even more of a gift than she’d thought previously.

The first time is a false alarm. So is the second. The third she considers keeping to herself, but it couples with a nasty stomach bug that makes both of them think that it’s real this time around, if only for three more days.

By the fourth time, they’ve been living in her parents’ house for almost a year. She’d been surprised when Alfred suggested moving to her parents’ place. It’s way too big for only her father, and he is getting older and keeps having trouble with keeping up with the property. She isn’t so sure about it. The house still feels foreign to her, despite its familiarity. She grew up there, and when she left, she’d been such a different person from when she’d returned, pregnant with her first child, unmarried, having seen things she could not even begin to describe, even if she’d been allowed to. But to her surprise, she finds that there is healing in those old walls. Their endurance is a comfort, that they’re still standing, despite how much in her life has changed, it gives her hope. Alfred and her have her parents’ old bedroom. Her father moved to the guest room on the first floor. Gavriel has the one on the second. His grandfather and Alfred spent almost a week converting it into a room suitable for a child. Build him a new dresser, got a new bed and painted it green. Had Gavriel help them put up the wallpaper, meaning it is slightly crooked in places and Aurora kind of hates it, kind of adores it.

She tells him with a sigh when they’re already in bed, drifting off to sleep. As an aside, a footnote to the day. By the way, I’m late, again. Alfred hums softly and turns, shifting his arm so it rests on her waist. Hides his face against her neck and lets out a soft snore. Aurora shakes her head in amusement and closes her eyes as well, sleep claiming her quickly. Beneath Alfred’s hand, a little heart beats frantically.

For how much her father despised Alfred when he first met him, Aurora is surprised into what a fan he’s grown so quickly. He likes his son-in-law. Likes including him in his activities. Sometimes, she pulls him aside and tells him to tone it down a little. Alfred is, special. Not just to her. Her father notices the little moments when he freezes, if only for a second. She hasn’t told him about the memory, but he does know about the synesthesia, mostly because it was hard to hide. He found it strange, how two people with the same condition can be affected so differently, comparing his grandson to his son-in-law. But if Gavriel really has it, his is a mild form, where one sense is fused to only one other, in his case it’s sounds and colors. Gavriel hears music and sees colors. Alfred hears music and sees colors explode across his vision and smells the strangest things. His synesthesia is more complex, impacts his life more drastically.

It’s her father who suggests using her old room as a nursery for the new baby. Alfred is immediately all for it. She feels overwhelmed by the suggestion and excuses herself from the table, in dire need of some fresh air all of a sudden.

It had been such a struggle, loving Gavriel. Allowing herself to be his mother, to open her heart to him. To someone so small and precious and fragile, who could be taken from her at any moment. It had been painful and harsh, and it takes her months to admit it to Alfred. It’s not that she doesn’t love their son now, she does, but it’s not something that came to her easily. This love she had to fight for, had to wrestle it from places in her soul she’d closed off, because they’d been in too much agony. She’s terrified it will be like this, again, with this child. That it will take weeks, months, for her to look at the new baby until she won’t have to remind herself to feel love.

Alfred confesses that he is afraid of the same thing. He loves her, and he loves their son, but he fell in love with her on the battlefields of Europe. A reckless sort of love that was bound to end in heartbreak and was so intense it made his head spin. And Gavriel he met as a fully-formed person. As a child running around in a peaceful country, laughter and joy radiating off him. It was easy, loving him, when all he’s ever seen has been this vibrant energy their son has. But the baby, it’s different. There are so many things that might go wrong, and he is deadly afraid of hanging is heart on another person that he might lose. He lost his mother, lost his father, lost Tom and Harry, and her, for years she’d been taken from him, and now he’s not sure if he dares to love someone else again. If there is any love left to spare.

Nightmares plague them every so often. Between the two of them, not a month passes where their night isn’t cut short due to them waking up with a gasp, or screaming in terror. It’s Alfred who yells out that night, who throws back the sheets and screams and jolts Aurora from her own dream. He jumps when she touches him, flinches and pulls away from her touch, and she tells him he’s okay, he’s fine, they’re fine. It’s the winter of 1951, the war is over, has been for years. Alfred shakes and stares at her, his chest heaving as he breathes quickly, inhales greedily, like he cannot get enough air into his lungs. His eyes search her face, look for the lie. She tells him she loves him and takes his hand and rests it against her belly. The baby doesn’t move, but the touch is enough to pull Alfred back from his memory and into the present and he begins to relax. She suggest a walk, for both of them to clear their heads, and he nods. They’re halfway down the stairs when she feels the rush of liquid between her legs and lets out a surprised gasp, causing him to turn and look at her in confusion. When he sees the widening wet patch on her PJs, his eyes grow wide with surprise, and she cannot help but let out a soft laugh at his expression, before she tells him to go and call the midwife.

She hates that he sees her like that, but at the same time, she knows there is no way she’d make him wait outside the room. Alfred and her, they’ve seen too much. Have seen people die, heard them scream out in agony. She’s not going to put a wall between them and leave him with his imagination running wild. No chance in hell.

The baby takes its time, and by the end of the nineteen hours of labor, she is a sobbing mess. It hurts, she’s exhausted, and she just wants this part to be over already. And Alfred holds her hand, lets her squeeze his, and rests his forehead against hers and keeps his breathing calm. Whispers meaningless things to her, how much he loves her, how brave she is, and she knows she tells him to shut the hell up at least thrice. And she opens her mouth for the fourth time, but can only let out a moan of pain, and the midwife tells her to push, and her mind goes blank.

Nineteen hours and twenty-eight minutes, the time it takes for their little girl to arrive. Alfred keeps saying how beautiful she is, keeps touching the baby. It’s so strange, how things feel the same, but different. She couldn't’ stand anyone touching Gavriel, but Alfred touching their daughter seems almost magical to her. She doesn’t think she’s beautiful, but then again, neither was their son. Tiny and wrinkly and helpless, yes. Kind of adorable, but beautiful? She disagrees with that.

Their son has an entire list of name suggestions and is not shy about voicing his opinion. She has to admit that there are some that seem to, almost fit, but not quiet. Alfred lingers on one, keeps staring at the letters, his brows furrowed slightly in thought. When he tells her, she swallows and looks at the baby, and then tells him no. It’s too similar, too close. Neither one of them would be able to stand hearing it shortened to the name of a dead comrade. So Miriam is out, without question. Below that, however, is another name, and Aurora blinks at it in wonder. When she suggests it, Alfred’s face lights up at the sound. It makes her wonder what colors he sees when he hears it for the first time, but whatever they are, he tells her that it’s perfect, and that is that. Judging from the blissful face their daughter makes when he tells her that they’re going to call her Noémie, she is happy with the choice. Either that, or it’s gas. Probably the latter, to be honest.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This was written before S03E07 aired. I had no idea of what would happen in that episode.  
> 2\. I'm an atheist. Any knowledge I have of Jewish customs comes from school lessons and the internet.  
> 3\. And in the interest of full disclosure, I am German.  
> 4\. Thank you for reading.


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